


play the song without the hook in the third line

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angsty Schmoop, F/F, Fireworks, Recasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ann's getting married, and as the Parks Department Deputy Director, it's Leslie's duty to make sure everything goes off without a hitch. And that's the problem: it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	play the song without the hook in the third line

**Author's Note:**

> **Info:** originally conceived for recast_bigbang, _Parks & Recreation_ as _Imagine Me & You_. Leslie/Ann.  
>  **Thanks to:** immortality and prozacpark for the beta work, gloss for the hand-holding even if she didn't realize it, allchildren for the last minute brain freeze fix  
>  **Note:** While there are some differences in this universe, Leslie Knope is still Leslie Knope and kind of an insensitive ass when it comes to offending people. Possible triggers for ableist language and general assholery. Also, if you are unfamiliar with part of the canon, cheating. This isn't a happy story.

  


[0139 by emiliebjork](http://www.flickr.com/photos/emiliebjork/777119042/sizes/m/in/faves-woodenteeth/)

Roll the film without the love scene  
Roll the film with all of the car crashes in  
Maybe I'll forget it easily  
Like I wish I could forget you  
\-- "Around the Bend" -- Greg Laswell

* 

It starts at a wedding, and ends after that. 

(Things usually do.) 

* 

Part One: Ceremony 

* 

They can't afford the kind of ceremony Ann used to dream up when she was little, rubbing her white crayon into an un-sharpened nub to emphasize the pristine decorations, the flowers, the dress. Every little girl has those dreams (Ann is certain of this), watches the old black-and-white movies with hitched breath, sighing just-audibly when the kiss finally comes. And maybe the little girl Ann used to be would be a little disappointed in this spread, but the woman she's grown into eyes the decorations, the flowers, the dress with a satisfied pragmatism, a quick nod that says _Yes. This is perfect._

Besides, she plans on being well past tipsy at the end of the evening, and knows that she and Andy will remember this day as a blur at best. The important part is that they're doing it at all. 

Andy. It's weird, spending the night away from him after four months of his presence permeating her house. Ann hardly considers herself to be traditional. A little boring, maybe, but she still surprised herself by insisting on gathering something blue (earrings, an obvious choice), keeping the dress (a neatly draped one-shoulder, Ancient Greece-inspired gown with very little train) white, and inviting more family than either of them realized that they actually had. 

"Why not confuse his family even more," her mother had laughed happily when Ann pointed it out in the catalogue. "That poor boy. Just don't let him start researching Greek holidays." They had both smiled, remembering the almost horrifically awkward winter holiday dinner, Andy emerging from the back room swathed in a caftan (artlessly cut from a Mexican blanket) and holding a menorah. Remembering, too, the long month of Andy's forlorn face in the window as he begged to be taken back, to be forgiven for his mistake. 

"Don't worry, Mom," Ann had said, "It'll be perfect." 

_It'll be perfect,_ she had told her mother. And it was, or at least it was going to be. 

* 

"What's this?" Leslie asks, picking up the paper hanging off the edge of April's desk, under-lapping (totally a word) some of the Pawnee Pride paraphernalia Leslie distributed to the office a week ago. As the only out and proud female in Pioneer Hall, Leslie feels like it's her duty to spread the _gay agenda_ with anyone who'll listen. Thankfully, she works with a pretty amazing group of people -- Ron, who believes that if straight people have the right to ruin their lives through marriage, the gays should too; Tom, who constantly tries to recruit her for threesomes, though she knows it's only out of love; Donna, who is a hit with the drag queens; Jerry, who, as much of a loser as he is, took the time to bake Leslie an It Gets Batter ("Batter! Get it?" he asked, his stupid face all smiley and happy in the door of her office. 

She shook her head. "I feel very sorry that Pawnee's educational system has let you down, Jerry.") cake when she and Lindsay broke up three years ago (she's been single, mostly, since); and April, who doesn't have much interest in lesbians, but sometimes tags along with Leslie to The Bulge to watch the boys kiss, and who has apparently had this very important paperwork waiting on her desk for over a week now. 

"Ugh," the younger girl groans. "Just some ceremony at the old gazebo. I'm supposed to deliver the approved form to you, so," she leans back in her chair. "I guess that's done." 

"April," Leslie chastises. "I was supposed to have this three weeks ago!" She points to the date at the top of the form, holding it out for April to see. "And, _what_? They're allowing these soon-to-be-married hoodlums to hang fabric?" Leslie quite simply cannot believe the lax attitude of Pawnee's historical preservation division (which happens to consist of one man who only works at City Hall one weekend a month, and okay maybe she can believe the lax attitude, but still!) for letting an atrocity like this be committed. 

"It's not even a big deal. I don't think they have a permit for nails, even." April shakes her head and returned to doing nothing for the rest of the afternoon. 

* 

"So, are you nervous?" Lynn had asked the afternoon before Ann's bachelorette party (really, just a quiet evening with her two friends from the hospital and Lynn, her cousin). Lynn had this way of asking a question and then pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth while she waited for an answer. 

As tempting as it was to let her hang, Ann shrugged. "Not really. I think that maybe I should be, but we've been dating for three years, living together for four months. I don't think there are any hidden surprises waiting to sneak up on me after the alter." She fingered the stem of her wine glass. "I know you guys think Andy's..." 

"Kind of dumb?" Carli supplied, suppressing a grin. Ann couldn't hold it against her; her easy humor made the long shifts at St. Joseph's bearable. 

"I was going to say _not the smartest_ , but okay. I mean, he's not exactly the next presidential candidate, but Andy is...," she took a breath, exhaled and smiled, wondering why she was having trouble finding the words. "He's sweet. And I'm not going to find another guy who'll write a song about me doing the laundry." 

"You mean you aren't going to find another man period," Jo, the hospital receptionist, concluded, taking a big bite of steak so she wouldn't have to defend her statement. Someone must have kicked her under the table, because Jo coughed, took a long sip of wine and looked up at Ann, a bit guiltily. "Sorry. That was inappropriate. Andy's a doll." 

Ann looked anxiously in Lynn's direction and her cousin promptly took the reigns on the evening. It wasn't true, so it made no sense why what Jo had said bothered Ann. It wasn't true, and if it wasn't true, why did it hurt so much to hear? 

* 

She keeps staring at herself in the mirror and expecting to see some hint of anxiety, of fear, but Ann just sees herself. She's been ready for hours, refusing to sit still for more than fifteen minutes at a time because god help her if the dress wrinkles -- you only do this once, after all. Lynn actually seems to be the nervous one, fussing with her hair and makeup, leaning in front of Ann to steal the mirror. 

"What are you so wound up about?" Ann finally asks, hands settling on her hips and unintentionally showing off her manicure. 

Lynn turns and looks at Ann like she's crazy. "You know if something goes wrong, I'm the one your poor mother will blame." Ann frowns, thinking that her mother absolutely would _not_ and starts to vocalize, but Lynn cuts her off. "No one notices the bridesmaids until they fuck up. And what about the speech? I've been so busy getting you ready that I haven't had time to memorize it." She takes a tissue aggressively to her lips and repaints them once again. Ann considers reminding Lynn that she's had a speech to memorize as well, but doubts she'd be able to get a word in edgewise. "And I'm sure you're aware that Andy's best man is like, the handsomest man I've ever met." She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "So no pressure there." 

Ann tries to keep a straight face, she does. Swear. 

She's just dissolving into what's sure to be a long series of giggles when the knock comes at her bedroom door. It's time. Ann swallows down her laughter, suddenly sobered and excited by the rush of adrenaline and knowing that _this is it_. She opens the door quickly, her smile wide. "Mom said you'd better be ready or she's gonna come in here and you won't like what she'll do," says John, Ann's brother, looking one hundred percent miserable in his ironed pants and button down. And tie. Ann rubs his head quickly on her way out the door, knowing he's behind her, grinning despite himself. 

Lynn makes an exasperated noise and follows them out. "I hope you're ready to owe me about a thousand favors." 

"Come on, Lynn. Let's go get me married and then you can worried about dancing with the hot guy." 

* 

Okay. Leslie has to admit that the gazebo does look nice with a fresh coat of paint, even if these menaces probably didn't get the kind approved by the Historical Preservation Fund of America. Careless. And, other than the vases of flowers set around the structure, Leslie can't see anything worthy of calling the police to arrest the couple at the alter, which is simultaneously frustrating and a relief. She should probably go, because her mother always told her it was rude to go to people's parties uninvited (usually meaning herself when her Educated Ladies of Pawnee a.k.a. ELP group met and Ellen brought the best cookies Leslie had -- has -- ever tasted and little girls just aren't welcome even if they are little girls who read the material and prepared a presentation). And she's not really dressed for the occasion, an outdoor wedding calls for a mix of sophistication and fun that Leslie simply didn't prepare for this morning... 

But there's April. Leslie frowns. April Ludgate, who works with her in the Parks department and hates everyone. Leslie imagines that she _especially_ hates weddings, because even normally happy people sometimes hate weddings, and April is no where near a happy person. "April!" Leslie calls out, and, okay, it was probably not a good idea to call out like that when the ceremony is starting soon, and now everyone is staring at her and it takes a lot of energy not to start walking in that slow measured pace of the marriage processional already humming through Leslie's mind. Leslie skirts around the rows of chairs and whispers "April!" again, because even though it seems that everyone heard her the first time, April may have gone temporarily deaf. 

"This seat is reserved," April hisses when Leslie squirms down the narrow aisle, amending her harsh glare when she looks up and sees her boss approaching. "Er. For you of course." 

Leslie shakes her head. Sometimes April can be kind of charming in her recalcitrance. 

The music starts with a quiet suddenness, and all eyes shift to the open field behind them (not long ago, part of the raccoons' territory, Leslie thinks) where the bridal party is beginning their slow walk through the matted grass. An attractive bunch of young men and women, even if the groom is a tad scruffy for her tastes. Then, with the kind of crescendo that only happens in the movies, she appears. 

"Wow," Leslie whispers, and she must whisper loudly because April elbows her in the gut and the bride herself turns her way. Her dark hair is swept back in a loose bun, and having opted out of the more traditional veil (a smart choice), her face is offset only by the startling blue of her earrings, a reddish color painting her lips like petals Leslie has only before seen growing in Ramsett Park, and the shine in her eyes. _Wow_ , she thinks, silently this time, grateful when the music fades and she's invited to return to her seat. 

And then, as if the world has fast-forwarded to make up for the drawn out moment Leslie imagines they've shared, they're kissing, the bride and groom, and everything is beautiful and perfect, and Leslie should really leave now while everyone is distracted. 

Just... maybe she'll go to the reception hall. After all, the Justice said everyone was invited and Leslie _always_ attends the parties she's invited to. Also, she's a little concerned about the state of the reception. Ann Meredith Perkins and Andrew Maxwell Dwyer obviously don't know much about the art of wedding planing, and even if they have help, all of the wedding planners in this town are horribly incompetent, and these people know April so they must be amazing -- and married! -- (and beautiful) -- and _married_ , and worthy of some official guidance, or at least a questionnaire. 

* 

Really, he should have had this finished hours ago. 

It was Andy's idea, naturally, to play his own reception. "Why not, babe? There will be _millions_ of people there. Maybe they'll even buy CDs!" he'd said, and between his enthusiasm for the idea and the small bundle of money it would save them (Ann keeps thinking, maybe they'll go on a honeymoon? Someday?) Ann agreed. And now, as he makes sure the stage set up is to his specifications, Ann relishes the moment to actually attempt to eat some dinner and think _I'm actually married. We did it._

She doesn't feel any different. Should she feel different? 

"Excuse me," Ann looks up, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth. "I'm Leslie Knope from the Pawnee Parks and Recreation department, and I would like to inform you that a) I was _not_ actually invited, but am attending this function as the guest of my co-worker, Ms. April Ludgate, b) congratulations on your nuptials, and c) -- well this is actually a question, I hope that's okay." 

Ann blinks and nods, lowering her fork. She's had exactly one conversation with April and it involved passing the pizza box, so she's not exactly shocked that she missed the detail about working in local government, but it's hard not to be taken aback by the sheer force of this woman, who, now that Ann regards her for a moment of stillness, Ann recalls seeing as she walked down the aisle: that open expression of interest, the curving bow of her lips. 

Leslie Knope, exquisitely blonde and dressed for a work day instead of a reception, lifts her clipboard and slides a pen free of the clasp. "Your nuptials were performed at the old gazebo, correct?" 

Ann can feel her heartbeat pick up with the anxiety that stems from the unknown -- and something she isn't likely able to stick a band-aid on. "Yeah," she says, with the distinct impression that Ms. Knope already knows the answer. Maybe she knows a lot of answers. 

"You found the structure to be sound?" 

Ann blinks again. "What?" 

"The structure. Did you find it to be sound? Physically?" Ms. Knope leans forward, ready and eager to take down Ann's response. It's unnerving, to say the least. She opens her mouth to answer, confused though she might be by this line of questioning but is quickly cut off by Dr. Hughes. 

"Excuse me." 

"Oh, I'm so glad you could make it!" Ann shifts into the Perfect Hostess mode almost seamlessly, and blushes when she feels Leslie's eyes on her. "What's up, Doctor Hughes?" 

"Is there champagne around here somewhere?" He's already turned half of his attention to the middle of the room, scanning the tables. 

Ann gapes, feeling the (probably) innocuous comment cut right to her. "Actually, we aren't serving alcohol to guests, Doctor Hughes." 

"Actually," Ms Knope cuts in, "You're being exceptionally rude and bothering the bride." She tucks her note pad under her arm, as thought she hadn't been bothering the bride only the moment before. Except, Ann can't seem to think of Leslie as a bother. A bit odd, certainly. Doctor Hughes shrugs and walks off, obviously no worse for wear for the lack of champagne in his glass. 

* 

Leslie has the distinct impression that she may have overstayed her welcome. "Wow, I'm sorry," she fumbles, "he was just being..." 

"Really rude?" Ann smiles. She makes a lovely bride, really. Leslie doesn't know that she's seen lovelier. Leslie smiles back. It's impossible not to. 

"Thanks everybody for coming to my awesome wedding reception! The band -- Scarecrow Boat, we have CDs by the gift table, for sale -- is going to kick us off with some romantical tunes while I dance with my wife!" 

Ann looks up, almost guiltily. "Guess that means me." She double checks her plate, touching the rim of her glass as if making sure it is secure. "I'm sorry, Ms. Knope. I didn't get to answer your questions." 

"Go," Leslie insists, shooing Ann off. "It was poor form of me to ask at your reception anyway. We can deal with this in a few days." And that makes Ann's eyes widen a little (it's okay, she'll get used to it.... where does that thought come from?) but she smooths out her dress and goes to dance with her new husband. Not that she has an old husband. Actually, she might. Leslie has no idea, and for some reason that bothers her. 

And she must be staring (Leslie's bad at that, actually) because when the music starts, April crosses the room and tugs at Leslie's hand, playing the petulant child. "Boss, boss. I want you to meet Ben Wyatt. I'm moving in with him. Since _Andy_ obviously isn't coming back." 

The best man, Leslie recognizes him almost immediately. He shuffles forward, looking awkward in his tux and tie. His hair is something else altogether. "And you're, uh, April's boss, I'm guessing?" 

Leslie adjusts her hair. Always time to make an impression on a formerly unknown constituent. "Leslie Knope, and I am currently very impressed with April's faith in the marital system!" She pats awkwardly at April's shoulder as she ducks away. "Pleased to meet you, Ben Wyatt, friend of the groom." 

There's a loud crash of microphone feedback, and their brief connection is severed. Ben groans, rubbing his hand over his face. "I think that's my cue." He shoots a glance at April. "This really isn't my scene." April merely rolls her eyes and gestures, making way to the front of the room where the -- drummer? Leslie isn't sure -- is announcing, in a pretty solid impression of Alex Trebec, for the affiliated parties to come forward and make their speeches. Leslie feels the familiar itch under her right foot, wishing, no matter the occasion, that she was the one making it happen. 

"Hi, I'm, uh, Ben. The best man. Though I might dispute that if under oath." He takes a moment, smiling reflexively at his own joke, and Leslie finds herself about as eased by his awkwardness as he is made more awkward. "Andy and I have been friends for awhile now. I actually, uh, we were living together when he and Ann met. And you always hear about this sort of thing in movies. You know, like _While You Were Sleeping_ but without the coma." He pauses again, smiles. "He told me after their second date that he was _really, definitely in like_ with this girl, which, if you know Andy is code for love at first sight." That one, to Leslie's relief, does actually get some laughs. She's glad. Ben seems like a genuinely nice guy. Andy does too, for that matter. In fact, Leslie's feeling a little (belatedly) guilty for barging in on their nuptials (if not for the barging part, for the unable-to-keep-her-eyes-off-the-bride part). Her gaze swings to the bride, who is leaning against a pillar on the dance floor. Ann's dress sweeps at the top of her toes. "And Ann, I hope you are ready for long nights filled with The Soup Game and Soup Game Part Dos," he smiles, and Ann does as well so it must not be -- as Leslie can tell the audience assumes -- a reference to something sexual. Which, would be a little odd for Ben to know about in the first place, but hey, Leslie doesn't judge. "In short and in summary, here's a toast to my best friend and _his_ best friend. I wish you luck, and love." And it's only because Leslie is watching Ann like some lovesick teenager that she notices the shift in expressions before she lands on happiness, lifting her glass to the room. 

(Lynn, the maid of honor, has a sense of humor more in tune with the crowd. She reminds Leslie, briefly, of Lindsay -- something about the bite to a particular word or phrase. More likely, Leslie thinks, is that it is _Ann_ who's reminding her of Lindsay, not so much in the content of her self, but in the way Leslie's heart is set off in syncopation.) 

* 

Andy picks up his guitar, and Ann is surprised to feel her face blink into a reflexive smile while her heart plummets. She had hoped, maybe, for something a little different. He strums slowly, love clearly beaming from his face, and starts in on the first verse, rhyming "dishes" with "wishes," and the chorus with an echo of her name in every line. It's lovely. And she shouldn't wish for anything more. 

When she takes the microphone, she finds there are tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Andy," she says thickly, "I love you." The crowd _aww_ s while she takes the brief second or two to collect herself, looking up to see Leslie making a quick exit and her heart dips further. "I'd like to thank each of you for joining us today. It means the world that you'd share in our happiness." 

_It means the world,_ she thinks, and doesn't know why she wants to curl up and cry. 

* 

Part Two: Official Business 

* 

It's almost a month before they see one another again (and the very last place Leslie, or Ann for that matter, expects). 

"Ann," she yelps, skidding to a stop on her quick-as-possible walk down the hallway of the Fourth Floor. "What are you doing here? This is," she lowers her voice, knowing that the wrong sort of ears all over this place, "no place for a reputable woman." 

Ann raises an eyebrow. "You're here, aren't you?" 

"Oh, I work here. Downstairs." She doesn't offer any further explanation, so Ann is left to shift her weight and try to determine whether the conversation is going to continue or if she should make a quick exit. Problem being that she doesn't know exactly where she's headed. Andy, as she discovered yesterday, thought that the government would register their marriage automatically and didn't have any of the necessary paperwork done up. "In the Parks department," she finally concludes, sitting back on her heels, and smiling. "But that still doesn't explain what you're doing in this dastardly place." 

"Just some finer details that slipped through the cracks," Ann answers, not really _answering_ because if she's honest, she's a little embarrassed about the whole thing. And maybe more so around this woman, this _gorgeous_ woman she hardly knows but who seems to have taken an intrinsic interest in her life. 

Something flickers in Leslie's gaze. "You know, I almost missed your wedding altogether because of something slipping through the cracks." She grins, skipping over the whole part about not being on the invite list. 

Ann can feel herself blushing, her heart rate kicking up. She tucks her hair behind her ear. "Um. So, you might actually be interested in, um. There's this pit next to my house. Some kind of halted development--" 

"The pit!" Leslie yells, turning heads. 

A florescent light sputters, cracks, and dies. 

Leslie cups her hand around her mouth and leans close. Ann doesn't know why, but she leans in, meeting Leslie halfway. Her heart flutters. "I may have done a little research when I got your request for gazebo modification." Ann catches a whiff of Leslie's shampoo; Apples, a hint of mint. She's set off balance and takes the count of _one, two, three_ before she feels the sense of vertigo slip away. Her hand, she realizes, is firm on Leslie's shoulder. 

"Ah yes. Andy, he keeps threatening to use the space to build a giant fort, and I was just thinking," Ann smiles, hesitant, sure that color is high in her cheeks. 

"I've been trying to level that menace for months," Leslie snarls. "The pit, not your husband." 

Ann's laugh comes as a surprise, bubbling up. 

"I tell you what," Leslie continues in a happier tone, her smile contagious. "I'll come over for dinner on Thursday, 7pm, and check out the pit. I'll bring dessert." 

"Okay," Ann says, and finally, slowly, removes her hand. She's still smiling when Leslie excuses herself, and realizes she has no idea where the marriage license office is. (She finds it quickly enough once her head clears, leaving the paperwork in the hands of an elderly woman who looks and sounds like she is barely awake enough to accept the paperwork, let alone process it. Still, Ann considers, it can't be any worse than not filing in the first place. At least she tried.) 

* 

"You know," Ann says, wiping at the steam accumulating on her forehead, "you should really invite Ben." (She's thinking about Leslie. She's _been_ thinking about Leslie.) 

Andy looks up from his video game for a nanosecond. "Ben? Why?" 

"Because he's a nice guy." She pauses, collecting her thoughts and pounding them into the mashed potatoes. "And Leslie seems like a nice lady. And nice ladies deserve nice guys. Right?" The oven timer dings, muffling Andy's response (the one she assumes he makes; he might be too absorbed in the game. Actually, yeah. That's likely. Being married hasn't changed that much). "And she's likable. And Ben likes likable people." Even if he isn't super likable himself. At least at first. "So, you'll call him?" 

"Call who?" 

The steaks are a little dry. Ann sighs. "Ben." 

* 

Five minutes early, the doorbell rings and if she weren't wrist deep in tossing a salad, Ann would make a run for it. Instead, Andy hops off the couch (he'll regret not saving his game later -- Ann watches the car crash in slo-mo from the kitchen) and opens the door. 

"Congratulations!" comes Leslie's voice from the doorway. "You're now officially Mr. Andy Perkins." 

Ann shouldn't smile, but does, determined to finish this dinner in time to provide appropriate greetings. She's washing her hands when the two of them emerge, Leslie waving the marriage licence like a victory flag (or maybe one of surrender). "I'm pretty sure my name is still Dywer," Andy insists, scratching his head. 

Leslie laughs, a long, warm cackle as she crosses the distance to the kitchen where she gives Ann a hug, her arms occupied with the marriage license and a grocery bag that lands heavy against Ann's back, distracting her, but not quite enough, from that scent of apples and mint. (She closes her eyes, inhales.) "I brought dessert, but I'm going to be the rudest guest ever and hope that I can assemble it here? Pudding parfaits don't travel very well." Her smile is so warm and so _wonderful_ that Ann finds herself nodding before she even realizes what was asked. Thankfully, she has some glass bowls that should do the trick, and space in the fridge. 

Leslie smiles at her again when they work at unpacking the back, standing hip to hip behind the counter. It's nice, Ann thinks. It feels like home. 

Just when her heart is kicking into dangerous levels of acceleration, the doorbell rings. Thank God. "Oh!" Ann shouts, darting away from the kitchen and how warm she was starting to feel. "Ben's here!" And to his credit, Ben is holding out a bottle of wine, looking only mildly uncomfortable (which Ann is pretty sure is his default setting). She smiles at him, hoping that he can't see the crazed desperation in her eyes that she knows is there. What, exactly, was she thinking? 

"Does that mean we can eat?" Andy asks, still puzzling a potential name change in the foyer. 

Ann squints in his direction and presses a kiss to his lips, knowing she's in Leslie's view. It doesn't feel as reassuring as she imagined it might; instead her stomach twists and Ann breaks off the kiss, grimacing. "Help Ben poor the wine?" she suggests, turning to Leslie before turning away just as quickly. "You can put that in the fridge until we're done." 

Eventually, they all make it to the table, sitting boy-girl. Leslie doesn't touch her salad, but makes a cooing noise when Ann brings out the steaks (grilled, to Andy's chagrin, not on an _actual_ grill, but on George Foreman) and begins to tell them about her "boss, Ron Swanson," who would probably kill a living human for the last steak on earth if it came down to it. There are potatoes (which Leslie adds sugar to, oddly enough, and which Andy sculpts into something resembling a breast) and asparagus and "Just a kiss more of wine, please." 

Ben, who's been silent for most of the meal, lifts an eyebrow. "A kiss? I don't know that I've heard that term before. Is that a lot or a little?" He lifts the bottle, anticipating, a small smile on his face as he looks at Leslie. Ann should feel relieved. He likes her, right? Isn't that why she invited him? 

Andy perks up, pointing with his knife and fork at Ann and Leslie. " _I_ thought _you_ were gonna kiss earlier!" 

Ann nearly drops her fork. "When? Who?" 

"It would have been hot," he insists. 

Leslie's attention shoots to Ann, just the smallest of sideways glances, but Ann's absolutely certain that Ben, quiet and kind of creepy, to be honest, Ben caught the look. "There's no shame in expressing physical affection," Leslie finally says, her tone measured. 

Ann's heart pounds, but Andy simply punches the air victoriously and shouts, "Exactly! Hey, wanna go see the pit?" 

* 

Leslie feels a little guilty leaving Ann behind in the kitchen while the rest of their little posse goes exploring, but she's been dying to see the pit up close and hasn't had a decent excuse (or permit) until now. She finds Andy, despite herself, to be charming, full of big, sweeping gestures and generally incorrect statements. "As you can see," he says, playing tour guide, "the pit is very muddy. Also, filled with trash. There isn't anything good down there. Don't worry, I checked." 

She claps him on the shoulder -- actually taking a moment to steady herself. She didn't know it was this bad. And on her watch! "Andrew," she starts. 

"Andy." 

"Andy, I," Leslie shakes her head. "I'm absolutely shocked and horrified that this has been allowed to happen, and in your very backyard." 

"I think technically the backyard ends right there." 

"And I promise to make it right." 

Ben, who Leslie had completely forgotten about, clears his throat. "Are you sure you want to _promise_? That's kind of a tall order for a government in recession." 

Ignoring him and the words only intended to bring her down, Leslie offers her hand to Andy. "Shake on it." 

And they do. 

(It isn't until later that Leslie feels guilty about that part.) 

* 

Ben's not entirely sure how they got here. 

Okay, he understands the physical logistics. After Leslie made that stupid promise to Andy by the giant hole in his yard (it really is in his backyard, and there's no way that the city government is going to pay to take care of such a thing. This is Pawnee. In his entire life, he's never known the government to be proactive about anything, except maybe speeding tickets and overdue library fees.) they returned to the kitchen, Ann insisting that they all wipe their feet because the pit is probably toxic. "Dessert's ready," Ann said, brightly, with something beneath it that Ben couldn't quite put a finger on, but is now very, very close to. They sat down, they ate. Simple enough. 

What Ben isn't so sure about is how thee conversation meandered in this (dangerous, in his opinion) direction. 

Ann blinks, her spoon halfway to her mouth, dropping by degrees back into the glass. "Love? It's easy, I think. Slow, sometimes. Safe." Her smile flits tightly across her lips and she reaches for Andy's hand, who, predictably is too engrossed in his own pudding to offer his. 

Ben's about to open his mouth, but he can't think of a single thing that he might say that could save this. 

"I disagree," Leslie starts, and God, here we go. 

"Oh?" 

"Love should be like... fireworks. Like a car crash, but with much less blood. And no broken bones." 

Ann licks her lips quickly, her hands pressing into the table. "That sounds horrible." At the same time, Andy looks up from his pudding, eyes wide. "A car crash? _Awesome_." 

Leslie shrugs. "Sometimes love _is_." 

Andy, probably still thinking about police lights at the scene of a love crime, looks happily between Ben and Leslie. "So are some explosions happening right now?" 

"Maybe," Leslie says, and Ben knows it's all over. 

* 

It's past time for them to be leaving (the Youth of Pawnee curfew chiming hours ago) and Leslie still insists on having another look at the pit, despite it being too dark to see and beginning to mist. In a move that Ben can see coming but as usual, moves far too slowly to prevent, Leslie peers over the lip of the pit, and loses her balance in a series of looping arm gestures and comical "Whoa!"s before slipping feet-first over the edge. 

Ann shoots out of the house with alarming speed (was she watching them?) and kneels in the mud to help pull Leslie to her feet. "Are you okay? Is anything broken?" Leslie flops onto her back when she reaches the top, moaning superficially. Ben's certain she's fine. She only fell, what, a few feet? 

But Ann reacts like she's been called to duty, running back inside for her first aid kit, touching Leslie's face and holding a small flashlight. She moves it slowly, left to right, watching Leslie's reaction carefully. The interaction looks, to Ben's eyes, far from clinical and he interrupts. He has to. 

"Look, I'm sure she's fine. I'll walk her to her car. I won't let her drive if she's concussed." 

And maybe Ben is imagining things, but in the darkness it almost looks like Ann is disappointed. He shakes his head, not sure who he's more upset with. Not sure if it's even his place to be upset. 

"Thank you for looking after me," Leslie says when Ann has retreated out of the rain without performing a full range medical exam. "I know Ann and Andy went to a lot of trouble to set us up, and I don't want to be rude or concussed, like you said." 

"It's okay. I know," Ben says, wishing she'll correct him. 

"I'm _so_ gay," Leslie replies, turning to him, relief palpable on her face. "I feel really horrible lying to them like this, but they're so determined! I mean, Andy doesn't seem very determined about anything, but Ann seemed pretty sure that you and I would get along. Or I think she would have if she had told me about this ahead of time." 

Maybe it's a betrayal, but when they reach her car, Ben thumps the top and asks if she's hungry. 

"Pretty much always." 

"How does JJs sound?" 

"Fabulous." 

(He tells Andy. It's kind of his job. The part about how Leslie is totally in love with his wife maybe slips his mind.) 

* 

The pit, Leslie finds, is always at the top of her to-do list. 

Smiling more than she should, Leslie types out a memo and hits send, feeling her blood sing when the new mail sound erupts across the office. 

"High Priority Mission?" Donna calls out, her voice laced with sarcasm. 

"Ugh!" April whines. "Why's this so important?" 

"The last time something was this important it was because of those overdue sex books Lindsay had from the library," Tom says, going right for the gut, and, after a beat, having the decency to look a little guilty. "I bet Leslie has a _crush_!" 

The only thing to do is refute it. "Government officials do not have crushes, Tom," she says, surprised at how calm her voice sounds. After all, Tom did just invoke Lindsay, and Ron told her once that the whole department walked on eggshells during that breakup. 

"Well, I have a crush on Joan Calamezzo." He crosses his arms. 

"You don't count." 

* 

It's important for Ann to consider these feelings -- whatever they are, and whatever they mean -- in the most rational way possible. This seems, for lack of better options (unfortunately, she doesn't seem to know any gay people. Aside from, of course, Leslie Knope) to be the internet. 

She keeps the door ajar, because if she closes herself up in the office Andy will definitely know something is up. Google -- being a good a place to start as any (Ann's pretty sure that Alta Vista doesn't have an image search) brings up a colorful array of picture at the prompt _girl who likes girls_ and more focused, if a little more scummy results when Ann dares herself to type out the word itself: _lesbian_. The world doesn't end, the chair doesn't swallow her up, lightning doesn't strike. 

Of course, that scares her anyway. 

Onto page seven of the search results, and Ann still isn't sure if she actually feels anything other than mild revulsion at the over-modified bodies of the models with manicured fingernails, carefully spreading the skin around pink flesh. She feels _something_ , however, when she imagines Leslie looking at those same images, at what she -- a lesbian -- might feel, might see, might do. 

A few more clicks into the abyss, and Ann finds herself on a video site that actually doesn't look like an STD for her hard drive. It's surprisingly easy to click play, to turn down the volume when the breathing picks up, when the bodies meet. She doesn't think about consequences, doesn't think about Andy clicking through later, about what he'll think (it's not like he's got the whole internet history thing figured out, anyway). And maybe it should scare her, how much she doesn't think about him. She's scared already. 

The brunette on screen is leaning low, speaking something with slow deliberate shaping of her lips. The blonde smiles, reaches up to catch her co-star about the neck and pull her in for a kiss. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, boobs!" Cries Andy, and oh God, oh, God, Ann didn't even hear him come in, and now he's standing over her and reaching, when she fails to make a move, for the mouse. "This is _awesome_. Are you watching this? Can I watch this?" 

Ann clears her throat, attempting, apparently, to disappear into the chair. "You know I don't care if you watch porn, Andy. I mean, I assume you do." 

He exhales, exaggerated. "Oh, I definitely have." He makes a few clicks and another video starts up, one Ann refuses to let herself watch, though the shapes out of the corner of her eye are familiar enough, and start up a twinge between her thighs. ( _There_ , she thinks, _Are you happy now_?) "And more lately, I think. I don't really keep track. I could keep track. Like a chart! Charts are cool and very informative." 

Ann's finger twist in her lap. "You really don't need to keep a chart, Andy. It's okay." 

"But I'm only watching because," he lowers his voice conspiratorially, kneeling next to her and looking up, the bald honesty she loves completely unnerving her, "Ann, we haven't really been having a ton of sex. Like, at all. And I know you said that talking about sex with Ben was totally off limits, but babe, I didn't know what to do, and he said Andy, you know I don't want to talk about that, and I was like, oh, man, yeah. But April thinks you might be growing teeth in your vagina. Are you growing teeth in your vagina? And she also said you might be a zombie, which, I'm sorry, is something I should probably know about in case you try to eat me while I'm sleeping, because I sleep a _lot_ and I think I'd like to know if my life was in danger." 

The guilt finally arrives, in one giant batch. Like food poisoning. Ann puts her hand on Andy's on the mouse: he feels warm. It makes her feels worse. Like the fact that Andy is a living, breathing person (her living, breathing husband) who is hurting because something -- while not vagina dentata or zombieism -- _is_ wrong. She just can't seem to put it into words, can't seem to commit to the syllables necessary. 

* 

Part Three: The Pit 

* 

"There is one thing I know about lesbians and that thing is that they like girls, a _lot_ , and therefore, this Parks lady would make an _awesome_ friend for you." 

And so begins Andy's not-so-detailed plan to keep Ann occupied while he's in Indianapolis with Scarecrow Boat (which is "like huge" and also he totally can't take her because nothing kills a groupie's jive like a wife. Ann wants to ask if he actually just said the word jive, but refrains). 

"I really don't think--" 

"Oh, come on, Ann. This is pretty much my best idea ever. And you can't say no, because I already called Leslie Knope -- hey, her name sounds like _nope_ \-- and told her that she is absolutely positively taking you on an amazing date while I'm gone. And _she_ said that it was a wonderful and chivalrous idea and that she, as a dutiful public servant, would be more than happy to take you out at _least_ once." 

She fully intends to call Leslie and cancel the minute Andy is out of the house. 

Of course, she doesn't. 

* 

Leslie arrives a good ten minutes before she's due, expecting to wait on Ann while sitting in the car and telling herself, again, all of the reasons why this is a terrible idea (#14, Ann is married, damnit) but doesn't get the chance, because as she pulls up, Ann steps out the front door of her house wearing a blue and white sundress. Leslie's glad she's in Park because married or not, the sight takes her breath away. 

She rolls down the window while Ann is still approaching. "I'm sorry about all this," she shouts. 

Ann shrugs. "We're just friends, right? There's nothing wrong with friends going out." She rests her fingers on the window's edge, tapping her index finger twice. "I hope I'm not overdressed. I didn't know what you and Andy had planned." 

"Oh, you're absolutely perfect," Leslie can't help replying. "Get in." 

* 

Ann narrows her eyes, unsure if she should smile. "You brought me to your work?" 

"I thought you might enjoy a tour of the Public Health offices!" Leslie wiggles out from behind the steering wheel and rushes around to the passenger side where she holds the door open. At Ann's look, Leslie shakes her head. "Andy insisted I give you the luxury treatment." 

It shouldn't, but it makes Ann blush. 

* 

After the (thrilling) tour of the the two offices that make up the Public Health Department, Ann turns to Leslie and asks to see the Parks Department. She stuffs down the immediate thrill she gets from Leslie's expression and dutifully follows her companion down the semi-dark hallways to the Parks office suite. Leslie flicks on the lights and Ann takes a moment to take it in. The sheer normalcy of it... somehow impossible that Leslie should spend every day here and then show up out of nowhere and punch a hole in Ann's life. 

"What's this?" she asks, attempting to distract herself from Leslie's presence so impossibly close. 

"A card," Leslie answers, clearly dodging the question. 

" _Hope you grow some leaves for your birthday_ ," Ann reads aloud, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. 

"Ugh," Leslie laughs, "That's from Jerry. I don't think he understands metaphors." 

"Your birthday is coming up?" 

Leslie mumbles her reply, turning suddenly to look at something in the file cabinet. 

"Say again?" 

"It's today, actually." 

Ann melts a little more, and this time forgets to notice. "You can hardly spend your birthday at work, Leslie. Why don't we go somewhere..." (she wants to say _fun_ but can see immediately in her mind's eye the way that Leslie's face will drop) "...else?" 

"I do enjoy dancing." 

* 

Okay, so it's not entirely innocent. But Leslie really does enjoy dancing, and Ann seems like the type of person who also does, and Leslie really can't be expected to say no to that sweet of a smile. 

And okay, they might get a little drunk (or a lot) at the Snakehole (Leslie immediately vetoes The Bulge because if there is one place you don't take a married friend you just happen to be extremely attracted to while her husband is out of town it is a gay bar). And maybe they're dancing a little close for friends (at least, Leslie has never danced with anyone this way who she didn't go home with later) and really, they're not much more than acquaintances, and in that case they really shouldn't be dancing this close. But the DJ seems to have something against them, or at least against keeping this chase and good and _chivalrous_. 

"You're a really good dancer," Ann shouts, her hand falling carelessly against Leslie's neck. She's not a good dancer, not at all. She nods. 

"You're better." 

"You're a really good kisser," Ann tells her, later, pushing Leslie back against the stall door. 

"You're better." 

* 

They're still drunk, tangled on the couch and watching _A Bug's Life_ (mostly as background noise, to be fair) when Andy gets home. Early. 

"Andy!" Ann yelps and kicks her shin against the coffee table -- hard -- in an effort to unwind herself from Leslie's embrace. The tears spring to her eyes and she's not sure if they're from the impact or betraying her husband or the fact that she has to stop now. 

"You will _never_ believe what happened, babe," Andy starts, dropping his luggage at the front door and kicking off his shoes. "Oh, hey, Ms. Knope. It's super awesome that you kept my wife company tonight!" 

And then Ann really starts to cry. 

"I should go," Leslie whispers, tugging at her shirt, bordering on frantic. 

"You really should." Ann can't look at her. She can't look at herself. 

* 

When Ann comes home from a double shift and starts crying, Andy knows he's got to get out of there. (Drinks only help so much.) 

* 

When April stares Leslie down and asks if she's seen Andy's wife lately, Leslie thinks of all the pits she'll never fill and the lips she can never kiss, and she knows. She's got to get out of there. 

* 

Leslie can't help making another mistake, feeling the dread settle into her bones as she knocks on her mother's office door. "Leslie! So glad you stopped by!" crowed Marlene, immediately slipping her glasses off and closing her laptop. "I've been meaning to ask you about some field trips, and--" 

"Mom," Leslie just shakes her head. "I'm not here to talk about business." 

"Oh?" Marlene raises an eyebrow. "Well, by all means." She sits back, thinks better of it, and hops up to shout to her receptionist, something about coffee (Marlene has never understood the appeal of a healthy dollop of whipped cream, something Leslie insists she must have inherited from her father) before returning to her desk. "Sit down, Leslie. The extra seconds won't make much difference if this place catches fire." 

It's absolutely besides the point, but Leslie bristles. "Pioneer Hall has an excellent sprinkler system, you know that, Mom." She doesn't sit down. 

Marlene only smiles. "You had something to tell me?" 

Leslie can't help the small, sad smile that tries to escape her tight lips. "I love somebody." She shakes her head, trying the words again. "I'm in love with someone." 

"Oh, for Christ's sake, please tell me it isn't that Lindsay woman. That was horrible, Leslie, just horrible. And how do you think the people of Pawnee feel about the woman in charge of building safe spaces for their children being a _lesbian_ , Leslie? Not good, is how they feel. A single woman -- a _single_ woman, Leslie, has much more political chutzpah than her married, or I suppose in your case, _partnered_ off counterpart. After all, the men in this town," Marlene smiles to herself, "are hardly interested in voting for a queer." 

Leslie opens her mouth and shuts it. "Wow, Mom." She shakes her head and takes a step backward, two. "Never... never mind." 

* 

"We should probably talk," Ann says, leaning against the door and slumping down a little. 

Andy is confused. And, okay, maybe he's confused a lot of the time, but this -- this is totally, one hundred percent different. _Differentay_ , as they say in French. But Ann has just worked two shifts (possibly three, Andy always manages to forget and lose count even when Ann sends him reminder texts and writes in big letters on the calendar -- where _is_ their calendar anyway?) "Is this about the chips and dip I ate yesterday? Because that ranch was definitely past the expiration date, and if I'm going to die, it would be awesome to have some warning." 

"I--" Ann starts, stops abruptly and comes over to where Andy's sprawled on the couch to touch his forehead. "I have no idea, Andy. I'm pretty sure you'll make it." 

"Really?" He can't help smiling. That's awesome news. 

Ann shakes her head, and Andy notices she has those little lines around her eyes. She's been getting those more and more lately, which sucks, because lines turn into wrinkles and wrinkles are kind of gross. She sits down and gently removes the video game controller from Andy's hand, which is how he knows that this is definitely important and he should definitely be paying attention. "This isn't about," she shakes her head again, smiling a little this time, "ranch dip, Andy. I'm really, really sorry--" 

"You don't have to be sorry. I don't even have a stomach ache!" 

"--and I don't want to even, God, I can't even say this to you. You're my _husband_." Ann quickly covers her face with her hand, the one that isn't still holding his video game controller, and Andy _knows_ she's crying, because she does that when she doesn't want him to see. "But I've been working for twenty-two hours and I'm exhausted and I can't keep this from you any more," she drops her hand to her lap, which is good because Andy isn't _completely_ sure that he understands what she just said, because of the muffling and all. He waits patiently. He has questions, sure, but something tells him that he should probably just sit and listen right now, and whatever that something is, it scares him. "I love her," Ann says, and Andy would ask her to repeat it but he heard her loud and clear. But not loud, because she was whispering. "I'm in love with Leslie Knope, my best," she shakes her head, "my friend." She shakes her head again, and Andy really, really wants to shove her, or at least throw the controller, or maybe just tell her to stop talking, but she doesn't, she keeps going, and Andy knows he has to listen. "I love you, I do. I just... I always will! And I wish it was okay, but it's not, it's different, and I don't understand why." 

Ann finally exhales and looks in Andy's direction, really looks in his eyes. "Andy?" 

He's already shaking his head and standing up. "Ann?" He's almost positive that something terrible just happened. Almost one hundred percent positive. 

"Say something?" 

"I'm going to Ben's." 

* 

"Apparently," Ben starts strong because that's the only way he'll get through this, and shuts Leslie's office door behind him, "Ann is all prepared to ruin her marriage because of something going on between you two." He shakes his head. "I thought you had integrity. I thought you were a _genuinely_ good person. I thought you would never, in a million years, actually do anything." 

Leslie is speechless for a good minute before she lifts her head and silently points to the door. 

* 

Those few days pass and land on the day Leslie has marked with a neon green firework (not to be confused with the date of the _actual_ fireworks) on her day planner. She drives the long way home and drops a card, the envelope printed with a simple _Ann_ , in Ann's mailbox (the mailbox that says _The Dwyers_ , and makes Leslie's heart shrivel up like a prune) even thought she knows it's both wrong and a terrible, terrible idea. Of course, she's good at those these days. 

It's a cute card, one Leslie picked out at the store and not from her drawer of Cards For All Occasions. There's a kitten on the front (and, actually, Leslie has no idea if Ann likes cats. She could be allergic. An allergy might be appropriate, however) and the kitten has upended a cupcake that sits, icing-side-down on the back of the cat's head. The cat looks a little miserable, but let's face it, even miserable cats are _insanely_ cute if you put them on a card with a cupcake. It says, on the outside, "It's Your Birthday!" and then the printed saying on the inside reads "So have your cake and eat it too!" 

Normally, Leslie isn't very fond of historical misappropriations, especially when used as birthday greetings, but when she picked it up in the store, her heart picked up in that rhythm that she's started to recognize as _Ann_ and she couldn't leave without it. Of course, she was planning to present the card under very different circumstances. "You're leaving your husband?" she writes, full of guilt and hope. "Let's have cake!" 

It's a terrible idea, but Leslie does it anyway. Driving home, she puts in the Scarecrow Boat CD that Andy insisted she take, surprised to hear her phone buzz through the poorly-mixed sounds of "Sex Hair Part Two." 

*

She should be happy, shouldn't she? Ann is another year older and leaving her husband. She should be happy, blowing out the candles and smiling, holding hands underneath the table and sneaking a kiss in the quick darkness before the overhead lights flick back on.

The problem, as Ann starts to call it, isn't that she doesn't want all that. She wants it, so much, sometimes, that it terrifies her. She wants _Leslie_ , and Leslie wants her. It should be simple. It should make her happy.

Instead, she's opening a card and crying because there's no way she can kick Andy out, and there's no way she can do this. She doesn't do this. Not without throwing away the very idea of who she is, not without staring Andy in the face and shaking, tell him that she made a mistake.

(She didn't, though. That's what she keeps sticking on. Running away from and snapping back to. She didn't make a mistake. She's supposed to be here. With him.)

*

 _You're absolutely right. I am married. Have a good weekend._

"Oh," Leslie says aloud, then, "Ann." It's the last time she'll say it. 

* 

It ends sometime after the wedding. 

Things usually do.


End file.
